


Dance To Another Tune

by menaceexpress



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chara's Pronouns are They/Them, Frisk's Pronouns are They/Them, Gen, Other, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 22:58:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15181205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menaceexpress/pseuds/menaceexpress
Summary: Chara must figure out what to do on their own.





	Dance To Another Tune

**Author's Note:**

> i've been storing this for such a long time;;; i kept thinking that i'd post it when i figured out what the full plot of this story was going to be, but, Guess What, i haven't really done that, so i'm just going to wing it! that being said, i have no clue when this will update because i don't know what's going to happen yet! fingers crossed
> 
> i'm not very experienced when it comes to posting my works, so if you see something that should be tagged, please let me know! i'll be tagging as i go, and hopefully i'll be able to catch most of it. FINGERS CROSSED

Patience was never one of your stronger attributes; everything gets on your nerves too easily. You’ve been prone to lashing out and causing scenes as far back as you can remember.  Being dead as long as you have has helped calm your composure, but you know that restlessness and aggravation are ingrained in your essence. You know this very well, so you’re quite proud of yourself for lasting this long before reaching a breaking point.

“Frisk _._ I’m _bored_. Can we go now?”

You glance at their limp body, surrounded by the golden flowers decorating your grave.  The petals shift in the wind that’s being funneled down from the top of Mt. Ebott, but that’s the only movement you see.  You let out a long, drawn-out sigh, purposefully louder than it’s supposed to be, and try a different approach to get them to respond.

“Listen, I know the last run was… rough.”  

It was more than rough, it was _brutal_. The two of you had gotten so close to Asgore this run — with Frisk’s pacifistic ideals in place even! — but Frisk had gotten caught in a series of battles while traveling deep into the CORE. They took a little too much damage, their self-confidence plummeted, and their ability to dodge well and stay alert went with it.  You remember the moment you saw their determination waver, and then they died so soon after that.You wouldn’t admit this to anyone, except maybe Frisk who always seemed to figure it out anyway, but you were scared. You thought, maybe, that was going to be their last run. Yet, you appeared next to them in a familiar scene, light drifting from above your head and the scent of the musty cavern overwhelming you, despite how muted your senses had become since you returned as a ghost..

But now Frisk has refused to talk or move for the past thirty minutes, and you are fed up with waiting.  Impatience skitters through your limbs, and you almost laugh at how alive it makes you feel.You clear your throat and brush that feeling away.  You’re trying to be _kind_ here, and Frisk will know if you’re faking it, so you’ve really got to give it your all.

“Yeah, the last run was bad, sure, and it sucks that we have to go all the way back through when we were that close, but we’ve been through a lot worse! Undyne took us a shit ton of tries _and_ a couple of resets, and I definitely think her kills are the most painful, so this is nothing, you know?”

You wince at your own words. This is coming out a lot more harsh than you meant it.

“I-I mean, of course, that doesn’t mean the last run wasn’t _bad_ , I didn’t mean that, I mean…”

You abandon your attempt to be considerate as soon as you hear the faint sounds of movement from underground.  His new personality leaves a bad taste in your mouth, but if you can’t get Frisk up, Flowey can be… _persuasive_ in his own ways.

When your “best friend” pops his head into the chamber, his leaves are twitching, the motion too erratic to be lost against the wind.  His face is, unsurprisingly, bent into his signature smile that could almost rival one of your own, but it’s strained, too wide to be convincing.

You chuckle. This should be good.

“Golly, friend! I don’t really think this the best time for a nap!”  His eyes narrow after a moment when Frisk still doesn’t move.“What, have you finally given up and keeled over?”

No response.

Flowey glares at Frisk before disappearing and reappearing right next to them.  “Hey, you human lump! I’m _talking_ to you, the least you could do is acknowledge with a wave or something if you aren’t going to talk back!” His tone gets louder and sharper the longer he talks.

Still nothing.  Flowey’s face grows visibly pinched.

You tsk.  Flowey’s attempt wasn’t any more successful than yours, even though you’ve essentially played a shitty version of Good Cop, Bad Cop.  Now you have an piece of angsty foliage on the verge of a tantrum _and_ Frisk still refuses to yield.

“Frisk,” you sigh, “I don’t really understand why you’d want to add fuel to his already-flaming temper, but this is setting a pretty negative precedent for how this run is going to proceed. _We haven’t even left the first area._ And at this point, I’m being forced into shrubbery-sitting.  Can we _please_ —”

You swear as vines shoot past you, one flying directly through your chest, a icy-hot burn spreading from where it pierced. Before you can object, not that it would have done you any good, they descend on Frisk, wrapping around their torso and raising them from the ground.   

Flowey brings them closer to his face, stares for a moment through squinted eyes, and then shakes them. You jerk forward to help them but stop short with a seething glare. As a ghost, can only observe, and as much as you loathe to do nothing, you have no choice but to watch Frisk flop around in his grip.  Maybe it’s only to make you feel better, but you imagine throwing rocks at your “best friend” with a vivid intensity.

Flowey eventually stops, panting from what seems like some sort of overexertion, although you wonder if that’s accurate.  You know those skeleton brothers don’t technically need to breathe, but monsters like Toriel and Asgore do. Flower monsters? You aren’t sure, especially since you know he’s not a monster in the traditional sense.  You were never good with monster physiology anyways, and this situation is more complicated than anything Toriel would have given you to study.

You break out of your reverie and realize that Flowey has set Frisk back on the ground.  He’s back to his normal size; you almost can’t differentiate him from the rest of the golden flowers.  He’s staring at them with a look that makes your insides shrivel.You’ve seen that look before — a mix of concern and maybe fear — not on Flowey’s face, but you saw it all the time on _his_ face. Your _real_ best friend.

“ _Chara_ ,” you hear, worry dripping into the crack in _his_ voice. _“What are you doing?”_

_Your head whipped around — the consequential threat of being caught tensed your muscles, but the burst of adrenaline made stabilizing yourself on the chair much easier.  The wood complained at the sudden, forceful movement._

_“None of your business,” you snapped.  Asriel’s face drooped, the concern still definitely there, but almost like he was struggling to keep it from slipping off his face.  You knew he was trying to hide his disappointment, and you both knew he was doing a terrible job._

_You grimaced inwardly, much better at hiding your emotions than he is, and conceded.  As much as you wanted this to be a surprise for him, it would be much easier with help. With a small puff of air through your nose, you mumbled, “Sorry. Wasn’t trying to be mean.”  You glanced at Asriel out of the corner of your eye as you spoke and watched his ears perked up at your reluctant apology. You knew you could do better, and you both knew that you wouldn’t try.  He was happy with your attempt anyway._

_“Keep your voice down, Toriel will hear us.”  You turn away. It was as much of an invitation to join you as you could manage._

_“Us?!” Asriel squeaked, clearly delighted to be included in your scheme, but apprehension still evident in his voice. Nevertheless, his paw pads unstick from the kitchen’s linoleum floor and tread closer to where you were balanced._

_You suppressed a wince at how his voice carried across the room, and a sheepish grin met the glare you shot behind you._

_Turning your concentration back to above the refrigerator, you tried once more to stretch your hand as far back as you could.  Even on your tiptoes, you were still inches away from the colorfully-striped jar stationed against the back corner.Toriel put it back there on purpose, you’re sure of it, but you were determined to get your hands on it._

_You climbed down from the creaking chair with a huff, rolled your aching shoulder, and faced your best friend, who giggled nervously at the glint in your eye. “I need your help,” you said as neutrally as you could, but Asriel’s troubled expression immediately turns into a mix of skepticism and unadulterated joy.  Always keen to help, you especially, but always wary as well.Served you right, for exploiting his eagerness as often as you did._

_You grabbed the sides of his muzzle with both hands, ignoring how his fluff tickled your palms, and fixed him with a stare of clear and utmost importance. “I need you to concentrate,” you said, waiting for him to nod.  He does, bringing your hands up and down with him.“Good, because this might even be life or death.I need your help,” you repeated, and after pausing for a flair of drama, you pointed to the top of the fridge and widely smirked, “to steal cookies from Toriel’s cookie jar.”_

_Asriel’s snout scrunched, and he pulled away.  “That’s not life or death, Chara!” he protested, thumping you in the arm. “You made it sound so serious.”_

_“You’re the one who fell for it!” you chortle, leaning against the fridge for support. “This is a serious matter, Azzy,” you said after you stuffed down your laughter. “These are the cookies with the good chocolate. The really, really good chocolate, the dark kind. And I want to get my hands on them before they go stale or else it’ll be a waste!”_

_Of course, you’d eat them regardless, your own food issues aside, and Asriel knew this.  He gave you a flat stare._

_“So, Azzy… are you gonna help me or not?”_

_He deliberated long enough to make you doubt what you were doing, and you started to feel the panic creep in, that this was the final straw, that Asriel wouldn’t want to have anything more to do with you —_

_Your best friend let out an anxious sigh, pasted a shaky grin on his face, and in a resigned tone, said, “Mom is gonna be so mad if we get caught.”_

_You sling your arm around his shoulder and paste a grin on your face as well, shaky for a different reason.  “She sure is.But you see, Azzy, we aren’t going to get caught.”_

_You told him your plan, and five minutes later found the two of you precariously balanced on the chair, with Asriel standing on the chair and you sitting on his shoulders. You gave him a thumbs up, and he nodded in return, his paws wrapped around your ankles to keep you steady._

_Yet, as soon as you shifted your weight forward, the chair objected loudly and wobbled, one of the legs giving under the extra weight.  Asriel yelped underneath you, teetering, and you fell further, until—_

_Your ears rang. Deliriously, you thought that if your ears are ringing, then you ought to pick up._

_Seconds later, your senses returned, your hearing, your vision.  Full awareness was accompanied by panic, and you were immediately on your feet, fighting dizziness, and backing towards the knife drawer, your gaze as sharp as the pain in the back of your head._

_You saw your best friend, and your common sense returned as well. You had forgotten where you were, yet again. Asriel had a look on his face, the one he gave you whenever you had an episode, and your stomach dried up at the amount of genuine concern and fear he displayed freely._

_As soon as your back hit the kitchen cupboards, you thought, how senseless it was to go towards the knives. They were removed, thanks to you, close to a year ago. How stupid of you.  You held back tears, because it would only make things worse.Stupid and senseless.Worthless._

_“Ch-Chara, are you okay?” Asriel’s round eyes pooled with tears as he spoke, but he didn’t step closer.  You didn’t approach him either.Instead, you just stood there, and stared, and shook.“I was really worried, you weren’t moving for a l-long time, I didn’t know if you were going to wake up…”_

_He hiccuped. You hated making him feel like this._

_“Chara, I don’t know what I would do if you d-didn’t—”_

“—Wake up!”

You’re shaking.  A haze of yellow and green is all you can see. You didn’t know ghosts could cry, but you guess you learn new things every day.

“You’ve gotta be kidding, you can’t _really…_ Wake _up_ , Frisk!”

You blink away your tears, and Flowey is still hovering over Frisk, who hasn’t moved an inch, despite everything. A vine leaped towards Frisk’s throat, and you shout futilely before realizing that he wasn’t about to strangle them — instead, it rests right below Frisk’s jaw, applying barely enough pressure to raise their head minutely. He stares with an unnerving amount of concentration.  The three of you sit there, unmoving, with only the faint whistling of the wind from the surface, far above you, filling the air.

After a moment, the vine jerks back as if it had been burned. You also jolt, both at the sudden movement and at the change in Flowey’s expression. What was once almost familiar to you — maybe _too_ familiar — is now pure dread.

His voice feeble, seemingly carried to your ears by the breeze, so you aren’t sure if you hear him correctly as he says, “Frisk, I… I don’t like this. I don’t know what’s going to happen anymore.”

Trepidation strikes your non-beating heart, and you are positive that your face now reflects Flowey’s.  To see Flowey in this state, without an attempt to cover it up or fling insults as a distraction, leaves you agitated, and you want nothing more than to get out of this damned cavern and get back on script.

The echo of footsteps approaches the chamber, and you curse your ill-timed wish.  Flowey gives Frisk one last troubled glance before popping back into the underground.  The muted rumbles lighten as he leaves the flower grove behind, and since Frisk remains still even after the vibrations completely disappear, you must take action.

“This isn’t funny anymore, Frisk,” you say, eyeing the archway you know Toriel will step through at any moment. “I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve by doing this, but you sure have managed to freak me out. Fuck, you’ve even managed to freak _Flowey_ out, and Toriel will _definitely_ freak out if she walks in here and you’re just lying there.”

Frisk refuses to move, and your well of patience ran dry five minutes ago.

Consequences be damned, you grab Frisk’s body.  The strange, yet familiar, sensation of possessing a body — like being liquefied and congealed at the same time — passes slower than you like, but soon you are looking through Frisk’s eyes and wiggling their fingers.  Their body aches from the ragdoll treatment Flowey gave them earlier, and you feel the pain in throbbing waves.The return to the full intensity of physical sensations is a rude awakening. You will yourself to feel as little as possible.  

You turn your attention inwards, looking for Frisk’s consciousness, ready to spit fire. What had they been thinking?! There’s absolutely _no_ logical reason for their silent treatment, it’s caused nothing but problems, and now you broke your promise to stay out of their body without their permission. Now, they won’t be able to hide now that you have direct access to their mind, and damn it all, you want _answers_.

But you don’t feel anything from them at all.

The vehement shock that replaces your fury almost ejects you out of Frisk’s body, but you hit an unseen barrier that slams you back.  You would laugh at the irony of that if you weren’t struggling to regain your senses from the collision.

Right as you recover, you hear a gasp from the archway. “Oh, dear! Are you alright, my child?”

You’ve been a fool.  How stupid of you, really. For someone who not only attempted to die but also managed to succeed, it sure did take you a while to recognize a dead body.

Even after scanning for even a pulse of life, you’re forced to surrender to the harsh truth.  You’re alone in Frisk’s body. 

Frisk’s soul is gone.

**Author's Note:**

> :^)
> 
> kudos and comments are really appreciated!


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